


Palmetto Cupid Agency

by makebelieveanything



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Cupid!Neil AU, Fluff and more fluff, M/M, Matchmaking AU, Mentions of Violence, Scars, brief mentions of eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makebelieveanything/pseuds/makebelieveanything
Summary: Andrew owns a matchmaking agency, Neil applies to be a cupid. Shenanigans ensue as Neil attempts to start a new life and makes it his mission to find Andrew's elusive "Match."
Relationships: Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 33
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an indulgent fluffy fic inspired by [ DeyaAmaya ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaAmaya/pseuds/DeyaAmaya) and her Cupid!Neil. Thank you so much to [ JustADreamFox ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox) for being a sounding board, cheerleader, and an overall fantastic beta. I can't explain how much she helped encourage me to write this. 
> 
> Also thank you to [ ExyCherry ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExyCherry/pseuds/ExyCherry) for a last minute third set of eyes. 
> 
> The rest of the chapters are close to done as well, and will be posted soon. Hope you enjoy!

Andrew spent his entire childhood drifting from one foster home to another. The only objects he owned were the items he could fit in his pockets, or shove into a black trash bag. He learned early on that his looks and his wits were the best tools in his arsenal, and Andrew taught himself quickly how to use them to his advantage.

From the leers and smarmy smiles Andrew received at foster home numbers 3, 5, and 7, and the degraded “brotherly love” he was acquainted with in home number 9, Andrew knew that the amalgamation of his blond hair, sharp jawline, and striking hazel eyes was enough to bring most men to their knees. Combine that with his eidetic memory, forearms that could bench a full grown man (or two), and his eventual proclivity for winning knife fights, and Andrew Minyard was a force to be reckoned with; he knew it too. 

Andrew Minyard was an exquisite man armoured in opulent black clothes from head to toe; a stunning illusion encasing a lot of childhood trauma and deadly amounts of cold steel. 

The illusion was all he needed to succeed at his job, and Andrew was very good at his job. Somehow, after surviving countless years of abuse and neglect, Andrew realized he was exceptionally good at helping other people find the one thing he believed he could never have: love. 

First there was his brother, his identical twin, Aaron Minyard. Andrew rescued him from his abusive mother, cleansed him of the assortment of narcotics he’d been hooked on for years, and supported him through college and into med school. Granted, Aaron did a lot of his own heavy lifting: going to therapy, applying for scholarships, and attending AA meetings on a bi-weekly basis. Along the way, Aaron found his wife-to-be, Katelyn, and if it happened to be because Andrew strategically arranged for Aaron to take his place in a biology tutoring session, then so be it. 

Second was his cousin, Nicky Hemmick. Although Nicky was older than the twins, and eventually became their guardian after Andrew dispatched Aaron's mother (Tilda would never mean anything more than that to Andrew), he was just as broken as the two boys he’d taken under his wing. Nicky wasn’t a perfect parent, however he was exponentially better than the examples Andrew had known in the past. So when it came time for the twins to go to college and Nicky seemed prepared to stay in the United States to financially support them, Andrew made some choices. He used Tilda’s life insurance money to buy out Nicky’s mortgage, put Aaron through college, and shipped Nicky off to Germany and back to Erik, the man Nicky had said goodbye to in order to take custody of the twins. 

After all that was done, Andrew used the rest of the life insurance to start the Palmetto Cupid Agency (or the “ _Love Shop_ ” as Nicky affectionately called it).

The Palmetto Cupid Agency provided your standard matchmaking services with a special focus on security and privacy. However, Andrew’s real motivation behind the agency was to provide the second chance people like him - the forgotten, broken, and discarded nobodies society had decided couldn’t be helped - needed to find happiness in their lives. So Andrew partnered with David Wymack, a grumpy ex-marine who retired as Palmetto High’s gym coach the year after Andrew and Aaron graduated, who had a penchant for finding the lost and broken people the world had tossed aside. 

Together they mustered up a group of highly trained professionals, with equally troubled pasts, who assisted the harder cases in escaping whatever horror the world had thrown at them in the past, and help them start fresh and move forward: Betsy Dobson, a therapist who specialized in trauma and mental health for personal reasons, as well as couples counseling on the side; Abby Winfield, a nurse and nutrition specialist who had struggled with eating disorders for most of her childhood and adult life; Dan Wilds, a former sex worker, and the first female physical therapist to work for a pro Exy team; Matt Boyd, a lawyer who knew his way around the courtroom better than the back of his own hand, but maybe not better than the track marks that ran up both of his arms; and finally Allison Reynolds, a fashion designer and professional stylist who’d been disowned and left stranded on the street outside of her own home at the age of eighteen before building her own empire from the ground up.

Due to the Agency’s eclectic array of services, along with their insistence on extensive background checks, security, privacy, and the absolute anonymity of their clients, Palmetto Cupid Agency soon became the go-to place for personal rehabilitation and lasting happiness. After receiving the endorsements - and the generous monthly donations - of Kevin Day, Jean Moreau, and Jeremy Knox, a trio of famous pro Exy players that had escaped an abusive coach and ultimately found love together with the Agency’s help, Palmetto Cupid Agency had become the most successful and unique business of it’s kind on the East Coast.

It wasn’t necessarily a surprise then when Nathaniel Wesninski, the son of the notorious Butcher of Baltimore, walked through the Agency’s front door in the middle of April. Wesninski was a well known name on the East Coast to anyone who had paid marginal attention to the news in the last year. After an extended trial and extensive media coverage, every household with a television knew the name Wesninski. However, very few knew the face that belonged to his long lost son, Nathaniel, who had been kept off of the witness stand and out of the media as much as possible, even though he was assumed to have provided the majority of the information the FBI had needed to file charges. 

Suffice it to say, Nathaniel Wesninski, or Neil as he referred to himself, did not look anything like the charming, psychotic, mountain giant of a man who had raised him. Although he had the same sharp tongue and an even sharper smile; a smile honed by abuse and neglect into a razor’s edge, primed to pierce the thickest of armors. 

The most intriguing part to Andrew, more than the hair dye, colored contacts, and ill fitting clothes, were the burn marks and thin white scars that adorned both his cheeks, spread across his fingers and disappeared into his sleeves. Some were long since faded and flat, but the others were red and puckered at the edges, stretched taut against his cheekbones and pulling at his knuckles whenever he flexed his fist. Andrew knew from experience what type of knives carved scars like that.

Andrew rarely greeted new clients personally, but he’d been escorting a single mother who had recently escaped and filed for protective orders against her abusive ex-husband. He couldn’t very well turn down the opportunity to meet their newest high profile client; if it allowed him to get a glimpse of the personality behind the intriguingly attractive young man, well Andrew wouldn’t complain.

“Hello and welcome to Palmetto Cupid Agency, what can I assist you with?” Robin Cross, Andrew’s personal assistant and the Agency’s receptionist, asked from behind the large oak paneled desk.

“I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge,” Neil responded. His eyes drifted around the office, accomplishing a not so subtle perusal of the exits, guards, and potential escape routes in quick succession. 

“I’m sorry, the owner is not open for new clients…” Robin started, sticking to her training to keep prospective high rollers away from Andrew, but Andrew stepped forward before she could offer other options. 

“Why do you want to speak to the owner?” Andrew asked gruffly from behind Neil where he’d edged close enough to overhear the conversation. 

Neil’s head snapped around, nearly giving him whiplash, and he glared at Andrew saying, “It’s none of your business, asshole.”

“Well, well, someone’s trying to make an impression,” Andrew drawled, crossing his arms over his newest ink-black two-piece suit. “Fine, if you want to speak to the owner, follow me,” Andrew said and stalked towards the elevator bank without glancing back to confirm if Neil followed him or not. 

It was only when he turned and punched the button for the highest floor that he noticed Neil trailing behind him and shoving himself into the farthest corner, seemingly attempting to fit his lithe body into the smallest possible surface area. Andrew didn’t acknowledge the way Neil’s fingers twisted into his large gray long sleeve shirt, an anxious twitch he was not entirely sure Neil realized he was performing. 

The elevator’s doors slid open onto a long expanse of empty hallway. The only offices up here were Andrew’s and Wymack’s, and Coach rarely left the lower floors where he still enjoyed floating around spouting orders and observing the day-to-day workings of the Agency. Typing in a frequently changing 7 digit combination into the door’s keypad, Andrew opened the door and stepped inside, the door automatically starting to swing shut behind him. 

“Asshole,” Neil mumbled under his breath as he barely caught the door before it smashed into his forehead. Andrew ignored him and strode forward into the office, his desk facing the door, the large floor-to-ceiling windows behind it opening up onto an admittedly spectacular view of the Palmetto city skyline.

Andrew pulled out his large leather swivel chair and unbuttoned his suit jacket before smoothly sitting, resisting the urge to cross his legs and rest his interlocked hands on his knees like a classic comic book super villain. 

“How can I help you?” Andrew asked in his standard monotone.

Neil had barely progressed halfway into the room and was eyeing the chair in front of Andrew’s desk with trepidation, as if the arm rests would transform and bite him if he sat down. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Neil said, shoving his hands deep within his jean’s pockets. “You’re not the owner.” 

Andrew only deigned to glance briefly down to his name plate: Andrew Minyard, CEO.

“Nevermind, you can’t help me,” Neil said, turning for the door.

“Try me,” Andrew challenged, interrupting Neil’s abrupt exit. Neil hesitated at the door, glancing back at Andrew, distrust evident in his fake brown eyes. “Truth for truth,” Andrew suggested. He didn’t know what compelled him to say that, there was nothing this man could tell him that would keep his attention longer than anyone else had. Yet something compelled him to offer it anyways, and Andrew didn’t believe in remorse.

“You know who I am?” Neil asked quietly, turning to face Andrew, but not moving any closer. 

“Yes,” Andrew agreed.

“Then you know that I have nothing left. I am nothing,” Neil responded, watching Andrew’s blank face for a reaction before he continued, “the little money of my father’s that the FBI couldn’t touch I used to pay the lawyers and the hospital bills. I’ve scrounged enough to survive on for a month, maybe two, but that’s it. I’m here to apply for a job in exchange for your Agency’s services to procure a fresh start,” Neil concluded.

Andrew stared at Neil impassively, his face schooled to its usual calm mask. In the stretch of silence after Neil's admission, Andrew contemplated exactly how much he was willing to offer of his own vulnerabilities, before he admitted, "My childhood was a lesson in how little adults value the worth of a child. I wish I had lost count of how many times he told me I was worthless before I gave up hope of ever having control of my own life again.” He paused before adding, “I understand what it's like to have someone you should be able to trust take advantage."

“Where is _he_ now?” Neil asked.

“Dead,” Andrew responded with a shrug and asked, “where’s the person who gave you those scars?” He didn’t need to specify what scars he meant. 

“Dead,” Neil agreed, the barest hint of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. It was drastically different than the manic grin he’d become known for.

“So, what services are you hoping to exchange your labor for?” Andrew asked, reverting back to the business at hand. 

“Legal name change and the corresponding identification, and treatment assistance for the burns and scars,” Neil said. 

“Time with our therapist, and stylist,” Andrew added, booting up his computer and starting to add Neil to their database. 

“No therapy, no stylist,” Neil disagreed. 

Andrew lifted one brow at Neil, eyeing his stretched gray v-neck and the faded jeans that slouched around his otherwise slim frame. Taking in the hair dye that had started to fade at the roots, the muddy brown color just barely giving way to a hint of striking auburn, and then of course the brown contact lenses that concealed all but the faintest ring of blue.

“Stylist for your hair and I’ll give you a place to live until you can afford something of your own,” Andrew offered, his generosity stretching much farther than it would normally; his interest still piqued by the rabbit in front of him that was continuing to stand his ground even though his posture screamed bolt. 

“No stylist, and I won’t become a freeloader,” Neil argued, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, pulling at the loose curls that brushed his nape. 

“I have a house with multiple open rooms, and your true colors will begin to show soon, either way you have to make a decision,” Andrew observed flatly. 

“Counter offer,” Nel suggested, his eyes darting over the few picture frames on Andrew’s desk, Aaron and Andrew at Aaron’s wedding, Nicky and Erik at Oktoberfest mid-cheers to Andrew’s first month of turning a profit with the Agency. “I’ll take your guest room, but I pay back rent for anything I can’t cover up front. I’ll accept your help with the hair.” 

“And the wardrobe,” Andrew interrupted.

“And the wardrobe,” Neil acquiesced. “In exchange I will work here as a Cupid, and you’ll be my first client,” Neil finished. The almost smile from earlier transformed into a confident smirk.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips tightening imperceptibly. He had no interest in pretending the outcome of him dating would be any different than every other botched attempt over the past few years. 

“And why would I hire you as a Cupid?” Andrew asked. 

“I’m really good at reading people.” Neil shrugged. Andrew raised one eyebrow, clearly not accepting that explanation. 

“I spent my entire life from the age of 12 running from the Mob, creating new identities, hopping cities every few months, surviving. It cultivates a certain skill set. Like I said, I’m really good at reading people,” Neil admitted, offering one more truth hiding behind his gorgeous facade. “And, if that isn’t good enough, Kevin Day recommended I come here.”

Andrew didn’t respond immediately, evaluating whether dropping Kevin’s name intrigued him more, or pissed him off. Kevin and Andrew had an odd friendship, something tentative that had grown out of their proximity while Kevin had sheltered at the Agency. It had evolved to weekly phone calls that Andrew only sometimes ignored, and tickets to professional Exy games that Andrew always threw away. Yet Kevin, and his boyfriends, had an open invitation to Thanksgiving with Andrew and his family, and they always showed up. 

“Fine,” Andrew agreed finally. Resolving to give Neil a trial run, and answer Kevin’s next phone call if only to berate him for sending stunningly attractive men with childhood trauma to his doorstep without even a heads up. 

“You’re hired, but I have no inclination to be your first guinea pig. There are things in my past that you do not know, and they make me just as unconventional a match as you are a Cupid.”

“That’s not a fair exchange,” Neil argued, “you’re giving me a chance at a completely fresh start, the least I could do is try and find someone who treats you with as much kindness as you treat the rest of the misfits that walk into this Agency.”

Andrew hated everything about Neil in that moment. He hated that Neil insisted on an even deal, hated that Neil saw the effort Andrew put into the Agency and came to the conclusion that Andrew deserved the same, hated that his chest felt tight at the offer, but mostly he hated that he was inevitably going to agree. 

Some part of him, the part Andrew had believed was destroyed and buried long ago, still hoped that maybe he could have this, all of this: the job, the stability, the whole beautiful pipedream.

“Two chances,” Andrew finally offered reluctantly.

“Five,” Neil countered immediately, eyes shimmering with challenge and maybe a trace of elation, like he had not considered Andrew would agree.

“Three,” Andrew allowed, his monotone brooking no argument. 

“Three,” Neil agreed, sticking out a hand in offering. Andrew ignored it, turning back to his computer to finish entering Neil’s data and pushing through his employee application. 

“Go see HR on floor three for your new employee packet, then go find Matt Boyd on two he’ll get the paperwork started for the name change,” Andrew directed Neil. “I’ll meet you downstairs at 6:30.” 

Andrew only glanced up to watch as Neil slipped out of the door, his feet silent on the plush maroon carpet, the quiet snick of the lock the only indication he’d left. 

Staring at the closed door, Andrew replayed the entire conversation, still struggling to comprehend how the short, foul mouthed - but admittedly stunning - man, had wormed his way into a job, a guest room, and three chances at finding Andrew his elusive “match” all in one fifteen minute interview.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil and Andrew get to know each other, and their respective boundaries. Neil gets a makeover, and Andrew tries to pretend it doesn't effect him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [ justadreamfox ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox)for betaing and letting me bounce ideas off of you. 
> 
> I have no self control so chapters 3 & 4 will probably come out later this week. Stay tuned :)

Six o’clock rolled around much sooner than Andrew expected; his phone notifying him of the time as it did every evening. Caught up in the day to day of running a business, Andrew frequently worked through dinner and into the late hours of the evening. The only one who awaited his arrival at home was King, and Andrew fed her before leaving for work each day. She wouldn’t notice his absence until the next morning rolled around, and even then she wouldn’t make a fuss unless Andrew didn’t return within a couple days. It was one of the only reasons Andrew had allowed Nicky to wheedle him into adopting a cat before he left; they were as self-reliant as Andrew, and understood his unspoken boundaries. 

It was exactly six thirty when the elevator doors slid open and Andrew strode out into the lobby, suit jacket slung over one shoulder and keys dangling from his fingers. He was only marginally surprised to find Neil ready and waiting for him, a dreary green duffle bag slung over one shoulder as he leaned his left hip on the welcome desk. Given their earlier interaction, Robin seemed purposefully oblivious to Neil’s presence in her space. 

“I’m heading out for the evening Robin, messages can be forwarded to my office. I’ll answer them in the morning,” Andrew advised, “and don’t stick around too long. You work too hard.”

“Will do,” Robin grinned, offering him a quick thumbs up as her fingers flew over the keyboard, clearly intent on finishing her current project before locking up for the evening. Andrew and Robin were frequently the last two in the office, and he’d given her a set of keys when he recognized the fervor in her eyes matched the fire hidden inside his own.

“Are you ready?” Andrew asked, turning to Neil who nodded at Robin before pushing himself off the desk and following Andrew out the front doors. 

The black sheen of Andrew’s Maserati gleamed in the lights of the parking garage, and Andrew popped the trunk, eyes narrowing when Neil only pulled his duffle bag closer to his chest and tucked himself into the passenger seat without acknowledging Andrew’s gesture. 

It wasn’t until they’d exited onto the main thoroughfare that Andrew turned his inquisitive gaze on Neil and the bag he held onto so tightly Andrew was convinced if he squeezed any tighter it would burst at the seams. 

“Where’d the bag come from?” Andrew asked, taking the on ramp to the highway that would get them from Palmetto to Columbia in under 20 minutes.

“None of your business,” Neil responded, but he loosened his hold, fractionally. “Where exactly are we going? You aren’t going to take me to a deserted farm and kill me are you? Feed me to your pigs?” Neil asked, eyes flashing in amusement. 

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you got in my car?” Andrew asked. 

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I have some tricks up my sleeve if I don’t trust your intentions,” Neil mused, the words coming out as a joke, maybe bravado, but the strain in his clenched jaw betrayed the obvious truth to his words.

“Columbia,” Andrew replied eventually, changing lanes effortlessly before punching the gas, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel as his heart soared and the engine purred, the dial clicking upwards past 85, 90, 95. 

Andrew expected a snide comment to spill from Neil’s mouth as the vehicle practically flew down the highway, but in the peripheral of Andrew’s vision he saw Neil lean his head back against the headrest, staring out the window as the mile markers blurred past. 

The two didn’t say anything else, the quiet a small comfort in a world so full of noise. It wasn’t until Andrew pulled into his driveway and cut the engine that Neil finally broke the silence. 

‘You know, I haven’t slept in a real bed, in an actual house, since I was 12.”

Andrew wasn’t sure Neil realized he’d admitted that aloud, so Andrew decided not to address it as he climbed out and slammed the door behind him. Neil’s fingers clenched around the bag’s straps, a faint indication Andrew startled him, but he hastened to climb out of the vehicle and followed Andrew up the weathered front porch and into the living room. 

“Kitchen’s to your left, half bath is down the hall, bedrooms are upstairs. You can take either of the ones on the right, mine’s on the left. There’s also a bathroom across the hall you can use, towels are under the sink,” Andrew rambled off, nodding in the general direction of the rooms he indicated as he turned to lock the front door, punching in the alarm code for the security system he kept armed at all times. 

“Windows won’t set off the alarm, but the doors will. Any food in the fridge is fair game; I’m taking a shower. If you want to go outside the alarm code is hidden under the coffee container.” 

Andrew could feel Neil’s eyes on him as he grabbed water from the fridge on his way up the stairs, but he didn’t turn to see the expression hidden behind the false lenses. Andrew wasn’t going to play host; Neil obviously knew how to survive on his own, he could assuredly entertain himself for half an hour.

It wasn’t until Andrew slipped his head under the scalding water, letting the heat bleed through his tense shoulders and sluice down his back that he acknowledged the predicament he had placed himself in. Yes, Andrew’s house had three bedrooms, but it was only ever him that lived there; he’d never had anyone stay overnight besides Nicky or Aaron and their significant others. Despite his calm demeanor earlier, Andrew was skeptical that the locks on his bedroom door would be enough to provide the mental security necessary for him to sleep that night. 

Then Andrew remembered Neil’s voice in the dark of the Maserati, the admission he’d shared without prompting, and without expecting a response. It was a bed, and it was only for one night. If Andrew couldn’t handle it, he’d shuck Neil off on Matt and Dan, or maybe Coach. 

When Andrew returned downstairs he found Neil seated at the breakfast counter, King winding between his ankles as they swayed, his runner’s legs still too short to touch the floor. Neil and King noticed Andrew at the same time, brown eyes gazing up at Andrew while black fur and white tipped ears hopped onto the counter and shoved themselves against Andrew’s arm demanding attention. 

“There are internal locks on every door in this house. I haven’t slept in the same house with another person outside of my family since I was 16,” Andrew confessed, an equal exchange. 

Neil took Andrew’s admission at face value, nodding once before hopping off the stool and heading into the kitchen. “What do you have for food?” Neil asked, his head already stuck inside Andrew’s fridge.

“Not much,” Andrew admitted, opening the freezer above Neil to grab a pint of ice cream.

“Ice cream, for dinner? Really Andrew?” Neil admonished, shaking his head in disgust before pulling an apple out of the fridge. “How about I order some pizza or something?”

“Menus are in the second drawer, nothing with pineapple on it,” Andrew replied, pulling some cash from his wallet and tossing it on the counter as he sauntered into the living room with his ice cream. 

Andrew settled on the couch, pulled a blanket over his toes and turned on the television, flipping through channels indecisively. Andrew didn’t hear Neil place an order, but he stopped his channel surfing when Neil dropped onto the opposite end of the couch and said, “Go back, that was the Hornet’s game.” 

Andrew sighed and flipped back one channel, flinging the remote at Neil’s shoulder in retaliation. He wasn’t expecting the reflexes as Neil snatched it out of the air and settled it on the coffee table. 

“Of course you’re an Exy fan,” Andrew said in annoyance, shoving a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, refusing to cringe as the cold seeped through his teeth. 

“What’s wrong with Exy?” Neil asked, eyes glued to the television as the second half of the game was underway, Kevin streaking down the right side of the court towards the opponent’s goal. 

“Boring,” Andrew said, turning his attention to Neil, studying the way his dull brown hair curled against the curve of his ears, wondering what it would look like in its true shade. 

“That’s just factually incorrect,” Neil countered, his eyes only leaving the TV for a split second to glare at Andrew. “Cooking shows are boring, crime shows with their melodrama and lack of realistic investigations are boring. Exy is destructive, and violent, and beautiful; it’s like a battlefield.”

Andrew snorted, his brain to mouth filter failing to prevent the scathing words that flew out. “Of course you find beauty in the violence of it, you understand violence well don’t you?”

If Andrew believed in regret, he may have felt it then as Neil’s eyes snapped away from the TV, his whole body tensing, leaning slightly back into the arm of the couch; his visceral reaction that of a scared rabbit, just like he’d been in the elevator that morning. 

Neil’s eyes bored holes into Andrew’s face, betrayal tinged with distrust surfacing under his instinctual fight or flight reaction. Before Andrew could find words to explain, assuage, maybe remedy the look in Neil’s eyes, that piercing gaze turned calculating; the distrust drained away as Neil’s keen eyes tracked Andrew’s body language, his lack of movement, the absence of violence or anger.

“It takes one, to know one,” Andrew finally whispered, the admission burning like wildfire from his tongue. 

Tense seconds passed as Andrew waited, hoping Neil understood the words he couldn’t say out loud, but eventually the tension seeped out of Neil’s shoulders and his feet stretched out from where they’d tucked themselves protectively under his thighs. 

Andrew lifted a portion of the blanket closest to Neil, an invitation for him to slip his feet under; Neil obliged, tucking his toes under the blanket. He hesitated when they grazed Andrew’s calf, but squeezed his frozen feet under the fabric of Andrew’s sweatpants when Andrew only lifted one eyebrow in response. 

Andrew didn’t turn his gaze back to the TV, instead he maintained the raised eyebrow, a silent question, his eyes pointedly looking at where Neil’s toes were tucked under his calf then up to where Neil lounged, back still pressed against the arm of the couch, but no longer tensed to run. 

“Your sharp edges do not make you the same as the people who hurt me,” Neil responded, “or you, for that matter,” he added thoughtfully. “I told you in your office, I’m very good at reading people. You are not a threat to me.” 

“I have hurt many people, what makes you think I can’t hurt you as well,” Andrew challenged.

“I never said you weren’t capable,” Neil replied, his face transforming into the confident smirk Andrew’s perfect recall remembered from his office. “I do not believe you _would_.”

__Andrew chose not to respond to Neil’s evaluation of him, chose not to admit that Neil was right. He just waited as Neil watched him a few seconds longer before turning his gaze back to the TV and the game._ _

__When the pizza came, Neil hopped up to get the door, and Andrew watched in veiled interest as Neil remembered to punch in the alarm code he must have looked up while Andrew was in the shower._ _

__Neil plopped the pizza box between them on the coffee table and they spent the rest of the evening in front of the TV; Andrew earned a smile out of Neil for his occasional jab at the Hornet’s expense. Andrew learned pretty quickly that although Neil seemed highly intrigued by the sport, it definitely didn’t prevent him from berating the players when they made a mistake. They even kept the channel on to mock Kevin as he gave a post game speech to the press._ _

__As Andrew settled under the covers that evening, his eyes triple checking his locked door before turning on his side, he considered the notion that maybe evenings spent watching Exy with Neil were better than evenings spent watching documentaries alone._ _

__\------_ _

__Andrew and Neil’s newfound camaraderie evolved quickly, and their budding friendship lasted about two weeks. Neil carpooled with Andrew, disappearing to work with Matt or Abby on his own life before starting to train under the other Cupids. While Andrew spent his days locked in his office trying to finish off the new budget review, Neil learned the art of matchmaking, eventually taking on a couple clients of his own._ _

__Their evenings were spent watching Friends, Exy, or How I Met Your Mother, usually while eating take out, sometimes substituted for cereal, or frozen pizza. It turned out Neil’s knowledge of mainstream media was about as limited as his cooking skills._ _

__At some point, their easy routine had to come to an end, and that point came as Andrew pulled into the parking lot of Renee’s Hair Salon on their way home. The resentment in Neil’s eyes pulled at something in Andrew’s gut, but he ignored it, walking inside with Neil on his heels._ _

__“Appointment for Neil Josten with Renee,” Andrew said to the receptionist, a young girl with neon bright pink hair._ _

__“Take a seat, she’ll be right out,” the girl advised pointing to the lobby chairs. Andrew took a seat, Neil slouching down beside him._ _

__“You could have at least warned me,” he muttered under his breath, arms crossed petulantly over his chest._ _

__“And give you an opportunity to come up with an excuse?” Andrew disagreed, “plus Renee is booked months ahead of time, I pulled a favor to get you in this quickly.”_ _

__Neil lifted one eyebrow at Andrew, lips pursed, “Why?”_ _

__“Because she’s the only one I’d trust with my back,” Andrew responded. Neil accepted that with a nod before pulling his knees up to his chest. Neil trusted Andrew not to hurt him, but that trust did not extend to anyone else without a logical reason._ _

__It wasn’t long before Renee stepped out of the back room, her rainbow tipped hair pulled up into a messy bun._ _

__“Neil, I presume?” she asked, stopping in front of them. When Neil only nodded, Renee took it in stride. “I’m Renee, I’ve known Andrew for many years, he said you’re looking for a cut and color?”_ _

__“Sure, I guess,” Neil shrugged._ _

__Renee just smiled, “Perfect, let’s get you back and get started. Would you like Andrew to come with?”_ _

__Neil glanced at Andrew, and Andew saw the faint hint of need in his eyes, quickly followed by a flicker of fear, before they went carefully blank._ _

__“I’ll come,” Andrew agreed. “Someone’s got to help pick out a color, clearly Neil can’t be trusted,” Andrew said tugging lightly at one of Neil’s curls; it was only the slightest touch, but Andrew swore Neil leaned minutely into his palm before getting up to follow Renee into the salon._ _

__Andrew trailed along behind as Renee led them through the room of open chairs and chatting hairstylists to a back door she pushed open, ushering them into a private room. Unlike the outer room that smelled strongly of dye and wet hair, Renee’s room was serene, like the woman who occupied it. There was a lavender wax melt in the corner, the smell dissipating the usually pungent scent of toner._ _

__Andrew slumped down into a comfy chair just inside the door and popped a chocolate from the bowl on the table into his mouth while Renee started puttering around, setting up her color basin and pulling out shampoos and conditioners._ _

__“What color are you thinking Neil?” Renee asked, handing him a book of options that he didn’t open._ _

__“Uhm, I’m not sure,” Neil hedged, subconsciously running his fingers over the barest hints of his roots that were peaking out of his scalp._ _

__“Page 5 option 4,” Andrew offered up as he ripped open another chocolate wrapper. Neil only stared at him until Andrew huffed and flipped to the mentioned page dropping the open book back in Neil’s lap._ _

__It was the auburn section, colors ranging from strawberry red to a chestnut brown that barely showed the hints of a warmer undertone. Option four though, was the deep reddish brown of autumn leaves in October, a genuinely stunning color that was similar to Neil’s true roots, but just dark enough to distinguish a difference. Neil ran his fingers along the example swatch, his eyes glazing over for several seconds before he lifted them to look at Andrew. Even with the lenses covering his true colors, Andrew could detect the vulnerability in Neil’s gaze._ _

__But Neil eventually turned to Renee and showed her the color, apparently satisfied with whatever answer he’d been searching for in Andrew’s eyes._ _

__The process from there went surprisingly smoothly, Renee chatted easily with Andrew, bypassing the standard small talk and diving into their latest discussion on post-apocalyptic survival plans. Renee insisted that banding together to form a group to protect each other’s back, to find a stronghold and defend its resources, was the best option. Andrew disagreed, sticking to his belief that he could survive easier on his own without anyone to slow him down._ _

__“Two people are easier to pass off as non-conspicuous,” Neil chimed in eventually, his head under the faucet as Renee washed the dye out of his hair. “One person alone attracts attention, and has too many blind spots. Two people together though, with trust, can cover each other’s weaknesses. It takes them longer to burn out.”_ _

__Renee glanced at Andrew over Neil’s hair, catching the subtle undercurrent of Neil’s words that indicated to their kindred souls: he was talking from experience. But she took his addition in stride, ever the peacekeeper, and continued to point out how his argument supported her theory of a full group._ _

__When Renee finally finished, turning Neil to face the mirror set behind his chair, Andrew couldn’t prevent his gaze from tracking Neil’s movements as he approached his reflection, fingers grazing along the closely buzzed sections along the sides, pushing their way into the curls that still spiraled over the top. Andrew looked away only once a small contented smile graced Neil’s mouth, handing Renee his credit card and tipping her generously before agreeing to a gym date on Tuesday evening after work._ _

__Neil didn’t stop staring at his new hair in the visor mirror, a contemplating look as he alternated rubbing the buzzed sides and pulling at the soft strands._ _

__“Stop messing it up,” Andrew admonished, finally pulling Neil’s left hand away from his head and placing it next to the gear shift. Neil turned his satisfied smile on Andrew then, his thumb brushing against the back of Andrew’s hand before he extracted his hand and settled it safely in his own lap. Andrew moved his hand to rest it on the gear shift, trying to ignore the goosebumps tingling up his arm; his eidetic memory keeping a perfect account of how beautifully strange the feeling was._ _

__They picked up Chinese on their way home, Andrew’s diet not improving with Neil around as his cooking skills were demonstratively worse than Andrew’s own. If this living arrangement continued, one of them would need to learn how to cook before they both gained 50lbs, or got diabetes._ _

__In the morning, Neil exited the bathroom ten minutes later than usual, but Andrew didn’t voice his objection to the delay when he noticed the piercing, ice blue, crystal irisis peering out at him above Neil’s tentative smile. It took more of Andrew’s self control than he was willing to admit to keep his emotionless mask on, but if Neil’s growing smile was any indication, he wasn’t as successful as he would have liked._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on tumblr at [ makebelieveanything ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/makebelieveanything)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil tests out his Cupid talents and Andrew gets paired up with match number 1. It goes about as well as he expects it to. 
> 
> additional tags for mentions of past violence and scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the lovely justadreamfox for being a beta and a huge support. Can't thank you enough for your help. 
> 
> The song Andrew's listening to on the way home is Apathy (Is a Hell of a Drug) by Written by Wolves, if anyone was curious.

Andrew wasn’t the only one affected by Neil’s new appearance, the minute he walked through the doors of the Agency, Matt bounded out of his office, Dan not too far behind. Neil shrunk a little under their enthusiasm, but he accepted the hair ruffle and the compliments without the emergence of his trademark Butcher’s grin. 

Even Robin offered Neil a high five as he slid past her desk to pick up his newest assignments. After their semi-rocky start, Robin and Neil got along surprisingly well; they chatted about Exy daily, which Robin apparently played in college. Andrew appreciated someone else indulging Neil’s Exy related rants so he could avoid hearing them.

With his memory, Andrew of course didn’t truly _forget_ that he’d given Neil three chances to find him a “match”, but wishful thinking had him hoping Neil had forgotten so Andrew didn’t have to subject himself to what would inevitably be multiple exercises in futility. To Andrew’s chagrin, Neil definitely hadn’t forgotten.

“Andrew, you busy?” Neil asked, knocking on the inside of his door, his body already halfway through the door frame. The fact Neil somehow figured out Andrew’s door code every week without Andrew telling him remained a mystery. 

“Why?” Andrew responded, not looking up from the document he was reviewing, but watching covertly to see if Neil would take the hint or keep talking. 

“I’ve got your first match for you,” Neil advised, plopping a file on top of Andrew’s open document. 

The packet was less of a dossier and more of a list of compatible attributes. Andrew had long since done away with the standard profile picture and list of hobbies that most match sites tended to use; he promoted a bias-free agreement. Cupids like Neil reviewed similarities in hobbies and interests; compatibility on personality, intelligence, and problem solving tests; and various other questionnaires. 

“His name is Seth, he played Exy at the same college your brother went to-no don’t interrupt me,” Neil admonished Andrew as he’d opened his mouth to do exactly that. “I know you don’t care about Exy, let me finish would you?” Neil asked, waving at the paper in front of Andrew. 

“He works in a shelter for victims of domestic abuse, and he’s advised a number of people to seek out help from your Agency in the past. Without ever meeting you two have been orbiting around each other for years.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Andrew answered, his curiosity peaked if only slightly, “where is the first meet up?” 

That was part of Neil’s job as a Cupid as well. To track down a mutually agreeable venue for matches to meet, somewhere that was public, comfortable, secure, and allowed for some amount of personal interaction. Some people believed it took all the romance out of a “first date,” but Andrew found that his clientele appreciated not having to come up with ideas of their own. The ability to meet on neutral ground gave each participant an equal start. 

“There is a coffee shop about ten minutes from here on 20th called Foxy Coffee that offers live music from local Indie artists every Thursday evening. I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a table for you at 6:30pm.”

“Indie music?” Andrew asked, the skepticism mixed with a hint of distaste obvious in his words.

“Yes, Indie. They’re local artists trying to get into the music scene, even if the music itself doesn’t appeal to you, the idea behind it should,” Neil replied adamantly. “Plus the coffee is fantastic.”

“Okay, fine. 6:30 it is. How should I recognize him?” Andrew agreed, his mind reminding him that this date wasn’t going to work anyways. He was going along with it to entertain Neil, give him some experience, not because he was under any delusion that it would be successful. 

“He’ll be wearing a dark blue button up, and your table is a high top in the left corner,” Neil said, pointing to the address and information he’d included with the packet he’d plopped on Andrew’s desk, before he stood and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Andrew called, annoyance filtering into his tone. “You set this up for _tonight_? It’s 4pm Neil, that’s two and a half hours.”

Neil turned, a smirk firmly set on his face, his eyebrows raised in obvious challenge. “I didn’t want to give you time to make an excuse,” he shot at Andrew before stalking out the door with a small wave of his hand that may have been an extremely rude gesture. 

Andrew glared at his closed office door as if he could burn a hole through it to Neil who was surely walking down the hall to the stairs - he had refused to take the elevator after that first day. Of course it was just like Neil to throw Andrew’s trick back in his face; he should have known that would be the case. 

He huffed, glanced at the clock and mentally reorganized the things he could accomplish before six. He had a couple change of clothes in the closet in his office, if he stopped by six he should be able to switch outfits, fix his unruly hair, and get to the venue by 6:30… ish. 

\---

Andrew ended up walking through the doors of Foxy Coffee around 6:40pm, a time he hoped could be construed as fashionably late rather than the true reason: which was he’d arrived at 6:25 and sat in his car debating whether going through with this ridiculous agreement was worth his effort. Then he remembered the happiness on Neil’s face, the satisfaction he had been brimming with when he walked into Andrew’s office. It was confidence, an openly brazen confidence that Andrew had not seen on Neil before; it had looked good. 

If Neil could evolve so much in just over two weeks, there was no reason Andrew couldn't spend a couple hours sitting at a table listening to _Indie music._ At least there would be coffee, and Andrew planned on loading his with extra chocolate. If his ears were going to be bleeding, at least his taste buds would be happy. 

It wasn’t hard to spot the man Andrew was supposed to be meeting: Seth Gordon sat exactly where Neil said he would be. He had light brown hair, brown eyes, and was taller than Andrew, by at least a foot if his fancy sneakers scraping the floor where he sat at the high top table were any indication. The table was situated to the left of the door, positioned far enough away from the tuning guitarist that they would probably be able to hold a conversation without yelling. 

Andrew walked up to the counter, ordered the drink of the day: a dark chocolate smores mocha with chocolate shavings and a mountain of whipped cream. The waitress said she’d bring the drink over when it was ready.

Having no more reasonable excuses for stalling, Andrew walked over to the table and said, “Seth Gordon, I presume?”

“Andrew Minyard,” Seth smiled, gesturing towards the empty chair across from him, his other hand patting Andrew’s shoulder in greeting. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Andrew sat down, pulling himself out of range of Seth’s hand as quickly as possible and raised one eyebrow in response. 

“Everyone who works in the circles we do has heard your name,” Seth explained, taking a sip from the plain iced coffee he had at his elbow. “You did an amazing job transforming that Agency into what it is. I’ve had a lot of success stories come from there.” 

“I’ve had a lot of help,” Andrew replied, settling his forearms on the table. His mind recalled the nights Coach had dragged him out of the deserted office and back to his couch so Andrew would have a hot meal and a place to sleep that wasn’t an office chair. 

“Well, I’m glad,” Seth responded, reaching out to place his hand on Andrew’s arm, “this city wouldn’t be the same without the Agency.”

Andrew yanked his arm out from under Seth’s hand, but the waitress arriving with his drink distracted Seth from the panic in the reaction. Seth didn’t seem to notice that Andrew kept his arms under the table after that. 

A couple sips of his overly sweet drink helped settle Andrew’s nerves, and he settled further back into his chair as the singer stepped up to the microphone.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Andrew asked, knowing only the very basics of Seth’s job. Seth smiled, and began a prolonged description of how he’d found and started the shelter he worked at; Andrew tried to pay attention, he really did, but the words that tumbled out of Seth’s mouth just turned to buzzing in Andrew’s ears. Luckily it seemed once Seth got started he didn’t require much interaction to continue rambling.

Andrew surreptitiously checked his watch, for what was probably the fourth time, and sighed when he realized it was only 7:20. He had told himself he could make it until 8 before he bailed. Turning his attention back to Seth, he tuned back in just as the man was finishing a story about his sister and her fiance and the ridiculous location they had picked for a reception hall. 

“Sounds obnoxious,” Andrew agreed, hoping his response fit the context of the conversation even though he’d only paid attention to a third of the words. 

From the smile that spread across Seth’s face, he assumed he was right. “Yeah, man, it’s going to be a bit garish, but what can I do? She’s my sister.”

“The things we do for family,” Andrew shrugged. 

“So, will you go with me to her wedding?” Seth asked as Andrew took the final swallow of his syrupy confection. “It’s in a month. I’m in the wedding party, but I really don’t want to go alone, you know?” Seth continued, oblivious to Andrew’s attempt not to choke on his coffee.

Finally succeeding at swallowing and taking a breath of air, Andrew set down his empty mug and got up from the table. 

“Nope, not interested,” Andrew replied, stepping back from the table-his patience having worn thin long ago. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Andrew threw over his shoulder as a courtesy then walked out. Seth rushed to say goodbye before the door slammed closed behind Andrew, encasing him in the quiet of the street, allowing it to settle around Andrew’s shoulders like a cloak. 

It took half his standard drive time for Andrew to make it back home. The Maserati careened down the highway at breakneck speeds; the radio blared Written by Wolves to clear his mind of the last hour and a half. It was barely eight o’clock when Andrew walked in the front door, slipping out of his dress shoes and re-setting the alarm. 

Neil was on the couch, one of Andrew’s hoodies pulled over his head; his long muscular legs stretched out across the cushions, and his eyes remained focused on a video game. He waved once in Andrew’s general direction as his character ran straight into a room of zombies, cursing colorfully as his hand returned to the controller frantically punching buttons in a vain attempt to not die immediately. Despite his best effort, Neil’s character eventually succumbed to the mass of bodies surrounding him.

“Hey,” Neil said, smiling at Andrew as he set his controller down. “How’d the date go?” 

“Spectacularly,” Andrew muttered, heading into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t bother to change out of his date clothes as he joined Neil on the couch, offering his lap for Neil’s feet to return to after Neil had scrunched up to make room. 

“What happened?” Neil asked, turning his head back to the game as his character respawned in a safe zone. 

“He talked for thirty minutes straight without stopping for a breath, had no concept of personal space, and asked me to be his date to his sister’s wedding,” Andrew responded. 

“Well, what’s so bad about that, you’d be a great date to a wedding,” Neil replied offhandedly, gifting Andrew with a smirk. 

“The wedding isn’t for another month,” Andrew deadpanned. 

Neil had the grace to wince in sympathy, “Yikes.” 

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, taking a big sip of his whiskey. “Zombie on the right,” he added as Neil’s character barely dodged a blow that would have decapitated him instantly.

“Well, that was a bust,” Neil muttered, and Andrew couldn’t help but stare as Neil pulled his bottom lip between his teeth concentrating on a particularly difficult maneuver. 

“It was only try number one though, I’ve got some more tricks up my sleeve,” Neil said as he cleared the room of zombies, his character looting for treasure from their bodies. 

“Only two more chances,” Andrew reminded him, “how are your other clients going?” 

“Great actually!” Neil responded happily. “I’ve got one successful match already, they’ve been on three dates, and they’re planning the next one without my assistance. Robin gave me two new clients yesterday, and I’ve got another that’s starting with Dan tomorrow, she’s got an injury she needs to work through before we get her set up on a date.” 

Andrew wasn’t surprised to hear that Neil was thriving in the job, he’d seen how quickly the others had taken to him, inviting Neil to join them for lunch, or ruffling his hair when he said something particularly snarky. He was happy to see Neil had blossomed out of his timid shell, and not solely around Andrew. 

“I’m going to go grab a water before I start another campaign, you want to join?” Neil asked, pulling his feet gently off of Andrew’s lap. 

“Sure,” Andrew agreed, digging through the junk on the coffee table before locating the controller and booting up his profile. As the character profile loaded, Andrew shuffled back into the kitchen to grab some ice cream from the freezer. 

Andrew leaned around Neil who was rooting through the fridge drawer for a water, his arm reaching for the silverware drawer, attentive not to brush against Neil’s back. Despite Andrew’s caution, Neil swung the fridge door shut and turned to find himself snugly tucked against the counter, Andrew’s broad chest boxing him in. Neil took a breath, his eyes flashing quickly, but the look in their depths changed from panic to something else so quickly Andrew was unsure he hadn’t invented the glimpse. 

Andrew was about to step away, when Neil raised one hand, tentatively reaching for the patch of skin exposed where Andrew’s long sleeves had slid down his forearms. Neil stopped just shy of brushing skin, glancing at Andrew, his eyes asking a question he should not have known to ask. 

“Yes,” Andrew whispered quietly. He watched intently as Neil’s cool fingers trailed lightly along the black lines inked into Andrew’s forearms, not tracing the path of the tattoos, but hovering over the faint indiscernible scars hidden underneath. 

Andrew pulled his sleeve farther down, baring the full expanse of the artwork as well as what was buried below it. Instead of following the path up Andrew’s arm, Neil retracted his fingers, pulling his sleeve aside to bare a stretch of mottled skin: burns and scars alternating up from two inches below his wrist to the crook of his elbow. The two stood there, still as statues, a matching set of trauma and violence mapped out against their skin.

It was Neil who broke the silence that had settled around them, clearing his throat when it cracked as he tried to speak, “Should we go start that game?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Andrew agreed, feeling the blush starting at the nape of his neck as he heard how breathless he sounded. 

“You’ll have to let me past,” Neil teased him, eyeing where Andrew’s arm still blocked him in.

Andrew huffed, shoved the spoon in the ice cream cradled in the crook of his arm, and turned to stalk back into the living room hoping Neil couldn’t see the blush Andrew knew was spreading up over the tip of his ears. 

They settled into a companionable silence on the couch, the violent noises of weapons clashing and Neil’s occasional curses the only accompaniment to Andrew’s whirling mind. 

It had taken very little time for Neil to become a welcome fixture in Andrew’s life, even less time for him to have taken up permanent residence in Andrew’s thoughts. Andrew’s perfect recall remembered what evenings had been like without Neil around, and he knew at some point he had been content with his life; Neil made him question how he ever believed what he had before was happiness. 

It was in the minute details that Andrew really noticed the difference in his life: Neil knew to have a cup of coffee ready for Andrew when he got out of bed, the sugar and creamer set out for Andrew to doctor to his specifications; he knew when Andrew couldn’t stand to be around strangers and would offer to make a frozen pizza instead of going out; Neil even knew when to hide the emergency stash of cigarettes so Andrew couldn’t fall back into a habit he had forced himself to break long before Neil arrived in his life. 

The real miracle was Andrew had slept mostly uninterrupted every night since Neil’s arrival. His subconscious only yanked him out of sleep for the usual insomnia, not because he imagined his door pushing open and foreign hands running along his body. 

Somehow, Andrew had learned to trust Neil, and the feeling was as disconcerting as it was comforting. Andrew would have analyzed it further, but he was pulled from his thoughts as Neil interrupted, “Hey, earth to Andrew, a little help here?” 

Andrew’s mind refocused on the game at hand, and his character stepped up to protect Neil’s back from the onslaught of monsters. 

Andrew absolutely refused to acknowledge the symbolism in the gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on tumblr at [makebelieveanything](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/makebelieveanything)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew goes on date number 2 and number 3, and finally addresses his emotions and feelings for Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to justadreamfox for all the help and support. I'm still sort of in shock that I actually finished my first multi chapter fic. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

“His name is Roland,” Neil announced, slumping himself into the chair opposite Andrew’s desk, interrupting Andrew’s attempts at editing his most recent project. 

“Who?” Andrew asked, the annoyance in his tone only slightly true as Andrew glanced up to glare at Neil’s ice blue eyes. 

“Your next date,” Neil advised, holding out a new piece of paper for Andrew to take. It had been a week since Andrew’s admittedly terrible date with Seth, and even though Andrew was secretly hoping Neil would take longer to find another contender, he wasn’t truly surprised to find Neil in his office this soon. Neil had become startlingly good at being a Cupid; his success rivaled any of the other hires Andrew had employed throughout the years. 

“You have a high enough compatibility that I feel much more confident in suggesting a first meeting. Roland has provided a few suggestions and I wanted to review them with you for your top choice,” Neil continued.

“Are you going to give me any background at all?” Andrew groused, staring at the sheets in Neil’s hands as if he could read through the stack of papers. 

“No, I’m not. I do not believe you will be objective if I do,” Neil replied, a little smug. “I think you knew too much going into the date with Seth; you had already decided you were going to hate him.” 

Andrew couldn’t completely disagree with Neil, so he only huffed as Neil continued. 

“I will tell you this, however: he is a good listener, and he understands consent. He will listen, and understand, if at any point you do not feel comfortable with the date. I just ask you give him the courtesy of telling him so before you walk out on this one.” Neil’s tone was mostly joking - a slight jab at Andrew’s abrupt exit before - but his eyes were serious as they watched Andrew, trying to convey without putting into words that he’d heard Andrew when he mentioned Seth’s irreconcilable mistakes.

“It’s a first date, what do you expect to happen Neil?” Andrew asked, attempting to deflect the sense of being known that filled his chest making it hard for him to take a full breath. 

“I expect you to go, I expect you to talk to the man, and I expect you to not run away after 5 minutes,” Neil replied, ignoring the connotation Andrew had implied to ruffle Neil.

“I’ve been regaled of the stories of your previous attempts, and I’ve reviewed your file. I only ask that you give it a legitimate chance before you throw in the towel,” Neil said.

“Fine, what’s the date?” Andrew asked. He presumed he may as well get it over with. 

“Well, he’s offered up dinner, somewhere unassuming and lowkey of course; a sporting event, which I took the liberty of vetoing for you; coffee shop, which you’ve already done; or, and I saved the best for last, meeting at his bar after work tomorrow. It’s a Wednesday so it shouldn’t be too crowded, still popular enough you won’t be alone, and it has top shelf whiskey,” Neil smirked.

He was right of course, the bar sounded the most appealing to Andrew who would probably need the whiskey before the night was out. Somewhere in the back of Andrew’s mind a niggling voice wondered how Neil figured out his quirks so thoroughly in only a couple short weeks, but Andrew shoved that meddling monster back into its box. Neil was only being observant and professional, he was doing his job; Andrew had no reason to believe the kindness came from any sort of misplaced trust or caring. 

“Fine, send me the address, and make sure you find yourself a ride home tomorrow, because you are absolutely not coming with me,” Andrew replied, shooing Neil out of his office.

\---

Wednesday evening inched slowly closer every time Andrew glanced at his watch. For someone who frequently lost time immersed in work, every minute was lasting an hour. Andrew couldn’t discern if he was anxious, worried, or just plain uninterested. He knew Neil meant well, knew he was just trying to do the best job he could to make up for all the assistance Andrew and the Agency had provided him, but there was a reason Andrew didn’t go on dates. It corresponded with why Andrew had an alarm system that was armed when he was home, not when he left; it explained the one-way locks on every single bedroom and bathroom door in Andrew’s house. 

Andrew did not trust. 

But he had made a deal with an intriguing conundrum of a man, and he intended to keep his promises.

It was only a couple minutes past seven when Andrew arrived at Eden’s Twilight. He’d ditched his suit jacket in the car, removed the tie, and rolled up his sleeves to show off the intricate tattoos that wound around his forearms and up his biceps. Medium-gray slacks, black button up, black curling vines and thorns mixed in to the flowers that adorned his pale skin, and to top it off he’d added some gel to the blond mess of hair that - according to Matt’s nod of approval on his way out of the office - looked fashionably devilish. 

Andrew strode inside, wrapping an air of confidence around himself like a shield, and found a seat at the bar. There were two bartenders and only a few other patrons sitting at the bar top itself, the rest scattered throughout the interior sitting at tables, playing darts, or shooting a game of pool. Andrew surveyed the clientele with a trained eye, scoping out anyone who may be a potential threat. It wasn’t as if Andrew was protecting anyone anymore, but old habits ran deep. 

“Hey, what can I get you?” A voice came from behind the bar and Andrew turned to the speaker, taking in a shock of shiny black hair that was maybe a touch too long as it brushed against long lashes framing striking green eyes. 

“Glenfiddich 15, neat,” Andrew responded, nodding to the top shelf stock they had on hand. 

“Coming right up,” he said, grabbing a rocks glass and pouring out a generous measure of the honey-colored Scotch. “I’m guessing you’re Andrew?” The guy asked as he slid the glass Andrew’s way. 

“Depends who's asking,” Andrew responded, taking a sip, not at all to calm his racing heart. 

“I’m Roland,” the guy explained, not bothering to offer a hand to shake. “You fit Neil’s description. I hope you don’t mind hanging out here, one of my bartenders called in sick, but it’s a pretty slow evening. If you’re willing to stick around, I should have more than enough time to chat.”

Andrew nodded in agreement, he actually preferred sitting at the bar; he was able to put his back to one wall, giving a good vantage of the rest of the room and the front door. 

“So, what’s a gorgeous successful man such as yourself doing on a match service?” Roland asked, picking up glasses and methodically drying and putting them away, his vibrant green eyes never leaving Andrew’s. 

“It was a bet, of sorts,” Andrew answered honestly. “What about you? You’re telling me you manage a bar like this and you have trouble finding a suitable date?” Andrew mused, glancing around him before turning his purposeful gaze to Roland, giving him a slow once over.

“I have very specific types,” Roland said, winking boldly at Andrew, his smile opening like a flower over his cheeks. 

“And what would that type be?” Andrew asked, curious where exactly this conversation was headed, and so quickly. 

“Oh, you know, your typical aloof, slightly bad, air of mystery sort of guy,” Roland responded, his eyes grazing down Andrew’s muscled arms and chest in an obvious - but not presumptuous - look of appreciation. 

Andrew’s pulse stuttered for only a moment, but his rational brain quickly took over. Here was a very attractive man who was obviously interested in Andrew, and hookups were way more up Andrew’s alley than dates ever were; if it had the added benefit of distracting his perfect recall from a certain auburn haired electric eyed angel, then more the better. 

“What do you say we move this somewhere more private?” Andrew asked boldly. “You’re pretty slow right now, think the bar could survive without you?”

Roland glanced over at his other counterpart, gave him the, “I’ll be back in a bit man, you got this covered?” look, and motioned Andrew away from the bar, around the opposite corner and to a storage room. Andrew downed his whiskey in one big gulp before stalking behind Roland into the room. 

The door barely closed before Andrew had Roland pushed up against it, his arms bracketed on either side of Roland’s shoulders, body barely held millimeters away from pressing flush against him. 

“Yes?” Andrew asked, breath brushing across Roland’s throat, his neck tilted back giving Andrew perfect access to the smooth, tanned skin. 

“Yes,” Roland whispered, a plea and an agreement all at once. Andrew plastered his mouth to Roland’s pulse, sucking and kissing his way up one side of his throat, across his jaw, and down the other side. 

“Keep your hands here,” Andrew said, pinning Roland’s hands flat against the door at his sides before Andrew brought his lips down on Roland’s, swallowing the sigh that rushed out of his mouth as Andrew’s teeth grazed his bottom lip. Andrew had always kissed like he was fighting a war, not knowing how to pace the aggression and rush of arousal that flushed over his skin, and never caring to learn. 

Roland did not seem to mind in the slightest. His hands never moved, but his mouth pressed against Andrew’s, a willing participant in this fight, and he moaned low and soft in the back of his throat, the sound escaping between their lips as a soft whine. 

The disassociation happened quickly, faster than Andrew had ever encountered. Suddenly he shoved away from Roland, his body automatically putting two, then three, then four steps between them. Roland was a mess, his shirt rucked up, his lips red and raw, his eyes hooded, but Andrew’s brain did not register any of it. His chest was heaving, the air escaping his lungs much faster than he could drag it back in; at his sides his fists were clenched, shaking at the strain of controlling whatever was running through his mind. 

When Andrew tried to focus, he didn’t see Roland: he saw Neil. Neil with his red hair and his gorgeous blue eyes; Neil the enigma who had somehow wormed his way so thoroughly into Andrew’s life that his mind superimposed his image over reality, and Andrew couldn’t differentiate what was real from what was not. 

“Andrew?” Roland interrupted Andrew’s panic, still pressed against the door as far away from Andrew as he could get. “Andrew, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, I have to go,” Andrew replied, not giving Roland a chance to respond. Andrew just rushed for the door, practically ripping the handle off as Roland scrambled to get out of the way. Andrew stopped, only for a moment, his brain filtering in Neil’s voice: _‘I just ask you give him the courtesy of telling him so before you walk out on this one.’_

Andrew turned back, forcing his mind to focus for a single moment, “It is not you, Roland, I hope you understand me when I say that you don’t deserve this, and you didn’t do anything wrong, but I have to go.” 

Then Andrew walked out of the door, tossing a twenty on the bar next to where his empty glass still sat before he hurried out of the club to his car.

\---

Andrew marched past Neil’s bedroom door, refusing to acknowledge that his mind no longer referred to the room as a guest room; it was Neil’s room.

He made his best attempt to not slam his bedroom door, but Andrew could tell from the shuffling noises coming from down the hall that he’d failed. Still he forced his way into his ensuite bathroom, turned on a freezing cold shower, and stepped under the spray fully clothed. The water felt like shards of ice piercing Andrew’s skin and engulfing his senses; it yanked him out of the daze of semi-conscious reality he had been operating in since leaving the bar. 

Once Andrew had finally wrangled the image of a flushed Neil - eyes hooded and sparkling, body leaned up against a closed door - into a box in the back of his mind, he stripped off his clothes and left them in a sopping pile on the floor of the tub as he wrapped a towel around his waist. As he brushed his teeth, Andrew heard more shuffling coming from down the hall, and then a light knock sounded on his door. 

“Andrew?” Neil’s voice asked, muffled behind the wood. 

Andrew stared at the door, at the lock that he hadn’t turned when he’d stumbled into the room 20 minutes earlier, his toothbrush hanging limply in his mouth. He didn’t answer.

“Andrew, are you okay?” Neil asked again. Andrew waited for Neil to try the handle and walk right in: he didn’t.

“Andrew,” Neil started, his voice quieter, “I just want to know that you are okay, not injured, not…” he paused. “You don’t have to say anything, just one tap for yes, two taps for no, will you do that?”

Andrew’s feet moved forward of their own volition, and he rapped one knuckle against the door. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Two raps.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Two more raps.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Two more.

“Okay, I’m going back to bed. I will see you in the morning.” Andrew could hear Neil wander back down the hall, and he let his finger rap once more against his door right before Neil’s clicked shut.

Andrew slept fitfully that night. Even after he locked the door, his brain kept dragging him from his slumber to check again, and again, and again.

\---

Andrew knew he looked tired, knew the circles under his eyes were dark and purple, glaring evidence of how bad his night was; Neil never asked. He only handed Andrew a mug of perfectly doctored coffee and a cherry danish that definitely hadn’t existed in the house the night before. 

The ride into the office was quiet, but unlike the companionable silences Andrew and Neil had become accustomed to, it was electrically charged with the words Andrew couldn’t say - the feelings he refused to acknowledge. He parked the Maserati and tried to keep his face impassive at Neil’s small wave and the smile that graced his face before the elevator doors closed between them. 

Andrew buried himself in his work, completely bypassing lunch, his brain hyper focused on what he could control: his job. It wasn’t surprising when he was startled out of his fixation by a sharp rap on his door. Andrew glanced at the clock - it was already 7:30pm. It was probably Neil wondering when they were going to leave, but Neil had stopped knocking on his door long ago. 

“Andrew, open up. Don’t make me knock this door in, you know that hurts my shoulder,” Wymack drawled from outside the door. 

Andrew got up and opened the door, staring stoically at Wymack. “What do you need, Coach?”

“I need you to follow me. I’ve been directed to escort you out of this hermit hole you’ve locked yourself in,” Wymack responded, placing an open hand on the door so Andrew couldn’t slam it back in his face. 

“No,” Andrew deadpanned. 

“Andrew,” Coach reprimanded, “I’ve known you for many years, so this is how this is gonna go: hop off that high horse you’re on, rearrange your shitty attitude, grab your jacket, and let’s go.” 

Andrew contemplated putting forth the effort to defy Wymack, but there was a reason they still called him Coach; the man was broad shouldered, gruff, and no nonsense, but he had always treated Andrew as a son, and as an equal. Reluctantly Andrew grabbed his jacket and turned off his computer, shoving his phone in his pants pocket before following Coach out the door.

Instead of heading down to the elevator, as Andrew expected, Wymack pulled out a key and opened the door that accessed stairs to the roof. He ushered for Andrew to go up, and propped the access door open with a loose brick. 

Andrew hiked up the flight of stairs to the roof, testing the door he found it unlocked, so he pushed it open and stepped out into the waning sunset. Andrew stopped just outside the door, feet frozen to the cement, his jacket slipping from his limp fingers. 

“Neil?”

Neil was standing in the middle of the flat-topped roof section that the previous building’s owner had used for a rooftop bar. Softly lit candles were scattered at his feet, his body silhouetted by the pastel hues of the dying sun. In this light Neil’s hair looked like an inferno, dancing and weaving in the breeze.

“I found your final match,” Neil responded, his face devoid of a smile; the look in his crystal blue eyes unfamiliar to Andrew. 

Andrew shook his head and bit out, “I can’t hold up my end of the deal. I can’t do another match.” 

“Not even if the match is me?” Neil asked softly. It was then Andrew recognized the emotion in Neil’s eyes: _hope._

Andrew stared - shell shocked - at Neil. His brain comprehended the words, his heart soared at the implication behind them, but years of disappointment and fear kept him rooted to the spot, mouth pulled shut. 

“I know it’s too fast, and it doesn’t make any sense, and you haven’t given me any reason to believe you feel the same. Hell I’ve never even felt this way before either, but I know that I like you. I know that I hated every moment you were out with Roland and Seth because I missed having you next to me on the couch. I know that I’ve never felt safer with another person in my entire life. That has to mean something,” Neil said, the words spilling out of his mouth unfettered.

“Neil,” Andrew interrupted. “Whatever this is, I want it too.” 

Neil’s eyes glowed.

“Neil,” Andrew whispered, and his name tasted like honey on Andrew’s lips. 

“Andrew,” Neil whispered right back, and it felt like warmth, like a smouldering fire. 

Andrew crossed the six feet needed to bridge the gap between them, Neil holding up one palm towards him. Before Neil could even ask, Andrew pushed his cheek against Neil’s palm, his eyes falling closed as his hands twisted into Neil’s shirt. 

“Can I kiss you?” Neil asked, tentative and hopeful, the words like a bolt of lightning, sending shock waves of pleasure down Andrew’s body to the soles of his feet. 

Andrew nodded, and Neil leaned forward, careful to keep their bodies from touching, and pressed his lips softly against Andrew’s. Where Andrew kissed like he was waging war, Neil kissed like the languid heat of a summer’s day: smooth, soft, and unhurried. 

Andrew’s one hand snaked around Neil’s neck, wrapping itself lightly around his nape and drawing him closer, lips rising to meet Neil’s; they drowned in each other. When they finally pulled away the smile on Neil’s lips matched the golden glimmer in Andrew’s eyes. 

“So, Neil,” Andrew whispered against his lips, kissing him once more before stepping back to admire the view of Neil surrounded by the Palmetto skyline. “What do you have planned for my third date?” 

“Picnic on the roof,” Neil shrugged, a rosy blush coloring his cheekbones. “I’ve got homemade lasagna - don’t worry Abby made it - fresh double chocolate brownies, and a decanted bottle of Catena Zapata 2005 Argentinian Malbec.” 

Neil gestured to the blanket laid out under them and the wicker basket at his feet. “Care to join me?”

“Best offer I’ve ever had,” Andrew replied.

Andrew followed Neil down to the blanket, guided him onto his back and pinned his hands gently above his head. Andrew hovered over Neil’s body as a beautiful flush crawled it’s way up his neck, and Andrew followed it’s path placing a light trail of kisses up his jawline and to Neil’s mouth. 

“The food’s going to get cold,” Neil breathed between kisses.

“Let it, you taste much better,” Andrew replied. 

Andrew kissed Neil again, and again, as the sun completely disappeared below the horizon, basking in the surreal ethereal beauty of the flickering candlelight and the gorgeous man laid out below him. Andrew seared the moment into his memory. 

He’d finally found it, the pipedream he’d secretly held on hope for over all the years: it was Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on tumblr at [ makebelieveanything ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/makebelieveanything)

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on tumblr at [ makebelieveanything ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/makebelieveanything)


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